Hope Takes Flight Page 4

  Owen, confused and half unconscious, forgot that he was a minister, forgot everything. In that moment, instinct took over.

  His wide lips twisted in a snarl and he leapt forward, throwing a deadly right that caught Morgan squarely in the chest. The power of it sent the breath whooshing out of the fighter’s body and drove him back across the ring. He had time only to set himself before Owen was on him again like a panther, throwing blows, one after the other. Morgan tried to ward them off, but one, delivered to the stomach, doubled him over. A second caught him across the bridge of the nose, sending a shower of blood down across his chest.

  Morgan tried to get his guard up, but there was no hope. The smaller man was all over him, raining punches. And then, as he lunged to the left, Owen’s powerful right cross caught him in the center of the forehead. The blow snapped his head back and he fell to the floor, completely unconscious.

  Owen stood over the big man like an animal. Slowly, as reason returned, he took a deep breath, shook his head, and walked back to the corner. As the crowd yelled and screamed and stomped the floor, everyone standing, Owen waited for the count.

  The barker counted as slowly as possible, giving Morgan a full extra five seconds. But when he saw it was no use, he motioned Owen to the center of the ring and lifted his hand. “The winner, Reverend Owen Stuart,” he muttered in disgust. He shot one look at the fallen fighter, shook his head, and walked away.

  Owen went at once to the center of the ring where Morgan lay still and called back, “Come on, Amos. Give me a hand with him.” They lifted the heavy figure, carried him back to his corner, and propped him up on the stool. “Wash his face, will you Amos?” Owen said, then shook off his gloves and took the sponge from his brother, wiping the blood and sweat from the fighter’s face himself.

  After a few moments, the boxer came to and opened his eyes. “You put up a good fight,” Owen said, relieved to see that he was conscious.

  The battered face of Killer Morgan was a study. He had been beaten before, but never so thoroughly in such a short time. He shook his head and muttered, “You ain’t like no preacher I ever saw!”, then got to his feet shakily.

  Owen and Amos retired to the dressing room, and Owen changed clothes as quickly as he could. Outside, they found the family, along with the governor, who was speaking to a gathering of his constituents. “Well, Brother Stuart,” said Benning, a weak smile on his face, “it looks like you’ve got me. You let me know when you’re at the capitol, and I’ll be in the front row. Take your best shots at me and all the rest of the sinners.”

  “I’ll do that, Governor.” Owen smiled and shook the big man’s hand.

  “Let’s go celebrate your victory,” Amos suggested.

  Owen held up one hand. “Just a minute.” He walked over to the barker and put out his hand to collect the prize money.

  Grimly, the barker slapped a few bills into his outstretched palm. “Don’t come back, Reverend. We don’t need fellas like you in my business.”

  Owen grinned and went at once to where Lenora and Christie were standing. He counted out the money, putting half the bills in each of the girls’ hands. “Now go do some shopping. Allie, you and Rose and Lylah take the girls to town. Buy them the best outfits to be found, and take them to a fancy place to eat. We’ll catch up with you someplace.”

  Lenora and Christie, their eyes big as silver dollars, left with the others, as excited as children.

  “Now, let’s get out of here and have us a time,” Amos said. “You all right, are you, Pa?”

  Will Stuart had a broad smile on his lips. “I never was so proud,” he said, looking at Owen, “except, of course, when you went into the ministry.”

  Owen laughed. “Oh, come on, Pa. You weren’t all that happy about me becoming a preacher!”

  Will Stuart looked at this big, broad-shouldered son of his, and spoke slowly, “Well, I may have been a little bit disappointed at first—” He paused, looked down at the ground, and a long silence ensued. When he lifted his eyes, they shone with pride. “But I want to tell you right now, son, I’m right proud of you…more’n I’ve ever said.” He glanced at Amos and nodded. “You too, Amos. You been a good son.”

  To break the embarrassing silence that followed, Owen reached over and cuffed Logan and Peter on the shoulders. “Wait ’til these two get going. They’ll put us both in the shade.”

  Amos, in turn, caught Gavin by the nape of the neck and gave him a little shake. “This is the one we’ve all got to watch. No telling what he’ll wind up doing.” There was a roar of laughter, and when it died down, Amos went on. “By the way, Gavin, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise? What is it, Amos?”

  “I’ll have to show you. But not until two o’clock. In the meanwhile, let’s just wander around for a while. We’ll see if we can knock over some of those milk bottles and win some Kewpie dolls for the ladies.”

  They went to the midway and paired off, Amos taking care to walk with his father. “Where’s Agnes?”

  Will shook his head. “I dunno. Gone off with some friends of hers, I reckon.”

  Amos said nothing, but thought to himself, Pretty typical of Agnes to leave the family and go find her “friends.” He changed the subject at once. “Pa, I’ve never had so much fun. We ought to have a family reunion twice a year.”

  “I reckon that’s right. It’s been good for the young’uns,” Will said. They walked around slowly, talking amiably, and finally Will asked, “Son, what’s going to happen about this war business over in Europe?”

  Amos paused and let his eyes roam around the crowd. The tinny song of the calliope sounded harsh in his ears and the cries of the barkers carried faintly on the afternoon breeze. There was a smell of popcorn and hot dogs and sawdust. Finally he shook his head. “It’s coming, Pa,” he said. “No way this country’s going to stay out of it.”

  “Hate to hear that,” Will said. He looked ahead to where the boys were walking along, watching the crowd, and said, “I guess maybe you and Owen might be too old. But Peter and Logan and Gavin, they’d be right in the middle of it. Couldn’t keep them boys out, could you, Amos?”

  Amos shook his head. “I don’t think so, Pa. I don’t like to think about it…what it would do to us, to all the families in this country.”

  They stopped and watched as the boys began to toss rings, trying to win the cheap dolls on the rack at one of the booths, laughing, shoving each other playfully.

  “They act like a bunch of little kids, don’t they, Amos?” Will said proudly. There was a wistful light in his eyes as he said, “I remember back when I was their age. Everything was fun. And later, too. Remember how we used to go to all the parties, me playin’, and sometimes you singin’? You always could sing pretty, Amos. You ever sing anymore?”

  Amos shook his head. “Not the kind of songs we sang back then, Pa. Just in church now. I get asked to sing a solo every once in a while.”

  “That’s nice, Son. Real nice.” A thought crossed his mind, and he frowned. “What about Lylah? You had a chance to talk to her since you been here?”

  “No, but I’m going to find time tonight. She’s not happy, is she, Pa?”

  “No, she ain’t. Never has been, since she was a girl.” Will Stuart pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, then put the hat back on. “I don’t know what she wants,” he said finally. “But whatever it is, she ain’t found it yet. And I don’t reckon she ever will, unless—”

  “Unless she finds the Lord. I think you’re right. But she seems a long way from God. The theater’s not the place to find him, I don’t think,” Amos said soberly. “I’ll try to talk to her tonight, Pa. Maybe she’ll listen to me.” Amos silently whispered a prayer of thankfulness that his father was finally beginning to see the importance of knowing God.

  A faint light of humor touched Will Stuart’s eyes. “If she does,” he grinned slightly, “it’d be the first time she ever listened to anybody.”

&nb
sp; Amos laughed and slapped his father’s thin shoulder. “You’re right about that, Pa. But there’s always a first time. C’mon, now, let’s you and me see if we can show these young whippersnappers how to win a Kewpie doll!”

  3

  A RIDE FOR GAVIN

  The Stuart clan left the fairground, the women disappearing into a large department store as soon as they reached Fort Smith.

  “C’mon, fellas,” Amos said. “They won’t stop ’til they run out of money.” He led his brothers to the Palace Hotel, saying, “I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”

  They entered the restaurant, and it was hard for Amos not to smile as he watched the response of Logan and Pete. Their eyes grew large, and they walked as if they were afraid a mine might go off under their feet at any moment. Gingerly they sat down at the table, gawking at the white tablecloth and the unfamiliar array of silverware. When Amos offered to order for all of them, he saw the look of relief on the faces of his younger brothers. “Bring us all a steak, a baked potato, and a lettuce salad.”

  As they ate, their talk turned to news of the war. It was Owen who asked, “Do you think we’re going to get into this war over in Europe, Amos?”

  Amos shook his head. “Well, Paris is safe since the Allies won at the Marne, but they took 250,000 casualties.” When Logan gasped Amos turned to his younger brother. “That’s just the beginning, Logan. There’s never been a war like this one.”

  Owen looked down at his salad, pushed a piece of lettuce around with his fork, then turned his gaze back toward Amos. “Will America get into it?”

  Amos shrugged. “Bound to. The Germans have ordered total submarine warfare. Last February they sank two ships—the Carib, and the Evelyn—and they haven’t stopped since. Even President Wilson won’t be able to keep us out now.”

  Gavin slapped the table with a force that made the glasses rattle and startled the people sitting at the next table. “We can whup ’em, Amos! Just like we whupped them Yankees in the Civil War!”

  Amos grinned. “Well, we didn’t exactly whip them, Gavin.”

  “Sure we did! We just sort of played at it.”

  All of them wolfed down their steaks and potatoes, and when it was time for dessert, the waiter asked each one what they wanted. By this time, Logan had gained some confidence.

  “How about some apple pie a la mode?” the waiter suggested.

  Logan nodded. “Yeah. And put some ice cream on top of it, too.”

  At that Amos, who had taken the last bite of his steak, almost choked on it. But he managed to save his brother from embarrassment. “I’ll have the same,” he said to the waiter. “Apple pie a la mode—with ice cream on top.”

  The waiter kept a straight face and nodded, “Yes, sir. That’s just the way it’ll be.”

  As they were eating their pie and ice cream, Owen asked, “What’s this surprise you got for us, Amos?”

  “Finish up and I’ll show you. But I warn you, it’s more for Gavin than it is for you fellas. Hurry up, now.”

  Gavin glanced up, a question in his dark eyes, but he said nothing.

  They rose and pushed back their chairs, and Amos laid a tip down on the table. They were halfway to the door when Peter rushed after him. “Hey, Amos, you forgot some of your money! You left it back there on the table!”

  Gavin turned red in the face and grabbed the money. “That’s a tip, you idiot!” He retraced their steps and placed the coins on the table again, trying to ignore the giggles of the customers at adjacent tables.

  They were all relieved to put the restaurant behind them. Rounding up the women, the men helped carry their packages to the cars. “You can show us your new clothes later,” Amos said. “Now we’ve got to get back to the fairgrounds.”

  When they returned and parked, Amos jumped out and opened the doors. “All right. Time for your surprise, Gavin. You come with me. The rest of you go over to that field, where the crowd is gathering.”

  Owen glanced in the direction Amos indicated and said firmly, “Okay. Let’s go, everyone. Amos is the boss.”

  “Now…when’s the last time I gave you a birthday present, Gavin?” Amos asked as Owen led the others away.

  Gavin stared at him and shrugged. “Well…I guess it was my last birthday. Why?”

  “Because I’m giving you your next birthday present right now. Come along.” Amos began to walk rapidly, and Gavin, mystified, followed alongside. He was a quiet young man, not given to much talk anyway, and Amos’s mysterious behavior intrigued him.

  Amos made his way through the crowd and suddenly Gavin stopped dead still.

  “A plane!” he said, his eyes glowing. “A real airplane!”

  Amos grinned at him. “I thought you’d like this. There’s going to be a demonstration here, and I know the pilot. Come on, let’s see if we can find him.” He led Gavin over to the plane, and asked one of the men working on it, “Is Mr. Beachey around?”

  The mechanic, an undersized young man with a sunburned face, gestured vaguely with a wrench. “Over there. At that hot dog stand.”

  “Thanks.” Turning quickly, Amos made his way to the stand, with Gavin close on his heels. As they approached, Amos said, “There he is. Come on, let’s talk to him.”

  Gavin hung back a little, as Amos walked right up to a man eating a hot dog and holding a glass of what looked like iced tea in one hand. He sure don’t look like a flyer, Gavin thought. He looks more like a salesman of some kind.

  “Hello, Beachey,” Amos said and stepped up to put his hand out. “You remember me? Amos Stuart, of the New York Journal.”

  The man eating the hot dog paused before taking another bite and regarded Amos steadily through a set of steel gray eyes. He was a small man with a pugnacious jaw and was rather peculiarly dressed in an expensively tailored pin-stripe business suit with a high, starched collar, a two-carat diamond stickpin in his tie, and a checkered golfing cap, which he had on backwards.

  “Why, sure. I remember you, Stuart,” he said. “You did that story on me a few months ago.” He carefully set down the glass and put out his hand. “What are you doing out here, Stuart?” he asked. “Come to see me loop-the-loop?”

  “Back home for a family reunion,” Amos explained. “I’d like for you to meet my brother, Gavin Stuart. Gavin, this is Lincoln Beachey, the world’s greatest flyer.” He waved toward Gavin, and the two men shook hands. “Tell you what, I’d like to make a deal with you, Beachey.”

  Beachey stared carefully at Amos. “What sort of a deal you got in mind?”

  “You take my brother here for a ride, and I’ll do a story on you that’ll stir up interest all over the country. I think I can even get it reprinted in most of the other big papers. What do you say?”

  Gavin’s heart seemed to stop beating, and suddenly he could not breathe. To go up, up up in the clouds! Up in that blue sky! He had spent hours watching buzzards circle, smoothly gliding over the air currents, easily, with no effort at all. He’d watched the purple martins doing their acrobatics at sundown, twisting and turning in the air. Always, ever since he could remember, he’d kept his eyes turned upward, and he had read everything that had been printed about flying. And now, he stared at Lincoln Beachey and prayed that God would give him favor.

  Beachey smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Why, sure. That’s a good deal. I got lots of offers after the last story you did. Let me do my act first, and soon as that’s over—” here he paused and eyed Gavin—“you and I’ll take a little ride. That be all right with you?”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Beachey!” Gavin gasped. He tried to say more, but the words wouldn’t come out.

  Beachey balled up his fist and gave him a light tap on the shoulder. “We’ll have some fun, you and me.” He took another bite of the hot dog, washed it down with the iced tea, and said, “Time to go now. Got to give the crowd their money’s worth.”

  “C’mon, Amos!” Gavin urged. “Let’s go get us a good seat!” He hauled Amos along, who was laughi
ng at the boy’s enthusiasm.

  “So? Is that a pretty good birthday present or not?”

  Gavin stopped and looked at his brother, his eyes warm and his whole face filled with simple gratitude. “Nothin’…I mean nothin’ could have been as good as this, Amos. I’ll never forget it, not ever!”

  And then he started tugging on Amos again, and the two made their way to the edge of the crowd at the field and watched as Lincoln Beachey got into his plane and took off.

  As the small craft was gaining altitude, Amos explained a little bit about Beachey to his brother. “There’s nobody quite like that fellow. Not for flying airplanes, anyway,” he said. “He’s the best acrobatic flyer in the country. He had a slow start though.” Remembering, Amos grinned. “Just couldn’t seem to learn how to get a plane down and wrecked two or three of them in the process of finding out. But, when he finally learned how to bring one in without smashing it up, off he went. He’s been all over the world. Everywhere he goes, people come out to see his show.”

  Gavin watched the plane, which looked almost as fragile as the kites he himself had flown in the pasture back at the farm. “Have you seen him before, Amos?”

  “Sure. He’s done several exhibitions in New York. Of course, I saw him when I did the story on him. Look at him now.”

  At the far end of the field, Beachey had brought the plane down to an altitude of no more than a hundred feet from the ground. He gave it a turn that, one would have thought, might wrench the wings off, then turned back and roared straight along the ground. When he was even with the crowd, Gavin saw him pull back on the stick and the plane rose, making a circle until it looped-the-loop, then roared off down the field.

  A roar went up from the crowd, and applause filled the air. Gavin’s mouth dropped open. “I never thought I’d see anything like that.”

  Amos merely shrugged. “Well, the world’s first loop was done by a Frenchman named Adolph Pegoud a couple of years ago. He did it the hard way—an outside loop. But as soon as Beachey heard about it, he was pretty upset. In fact, he was overheard to say, ‘I am—the greatest aviator in the world—getting upstaged by a Frog!’ He took a plane up and immediately started turning loops. Loop after loop. Now, loops are his specialty. But he does other things, too.”